"They know no rest, these people," he said. "They wake to remember all they absolutely must do, and how many meals they must eat with their friends. Madame breakfasts in bed. Monsieur picks at devilled kidneys in the dining-room. He has his glass of port at twelve at the club. She has hers before she goes shopping. Then luncheon, bridge, drives, parties, tea; more bridge-parties, cocktails, dinner. Theatre, and bridge, a ball; supper; bridge again; devilled bones and chloral; they are too tired to sleep naturally. And since all this must pall, they must have some zest of novelty, and so go through the oldest round on earth--that of stolen meetings and hidden letters, and the finding out if a new lover has really anything new to say to them. If they lived in the country and looked after their houses and their gardens, and just had a yearly outing to amuse them, they wouldn't all go wrong from sheer nerves. The Town is swallowing home life, Estelle; the smell of the asphalte gets into their nostrils, the glitter and noise of restaurants become necessity. We cannot be bothered with a cook, so the restaurant for the flat can send us in what it chooses, called by any name it pleases. We get our breakfasts in now in the new flat. And anything else we want. Esmé only keeps two maids. Everything is exceedingly cold by the time I get it, and if we have people to dine it means crowds of things from Harrod's, but it all saves trouble. And to save trouble is the spirit of the age. To eat glucosey jams, and drink cider which never heard of apples, and so forth. I believe, in the future, that every square and street will have its monster kitchens with lifts running to each house. No one will cook." "And one day," said Estelle, laughing, "will come the swing of the pendulum, and we shall go back to an England which bakes and preserves and brews, and finds out how healthy it makes its children." "No." Bertie shook his head. "We are going too fast for that. So fast that one day, with its motors and aeroplanes, old England will find it has fallen over a cliff, and lies buried in the sand of Time, forgotten. The brakes will not always act, and exceeding the speed limit generally ends in disaster. We are a mighty nation, but always, always the sea-road for our supplies. We should starve here in a month if that was stopped. Some day it will be--by some strategy. Tea is ready--let us forget lobster and eat again." Hot-faced footmen had built a big fire on the shore. The couples came flocking back to eat and drink again. Some shyly radiant, their afternoon a golden memory; others laughing too loudly for happiness; others visibly bored. "The most absolute dullard," Rose whispered to her cousin, Hilda Hamilton. "He only made two remarks the whole afternoon, and one was 'that shrimpin' was shockin'ly wet.' And the other that 'he did hope it wouldn't wain to spoil the bathin'.'" "Oh, Rose, he didn't lisp," laughed Hilda.